Mi Corazón Loco
by TimoteoMontenegroIII
Summary: Héctor Rivera didn't only try a crazy string of costumes to get to Coco. Both of his girls got the same annoying stubborn. Of course being dragged off by guards is nothing compared with what he risks here...
1. A Desperate Hope

If anyone had ever accused Héctor Rivera of just ignoring the fact that his wife ( _His dear, sweet Imelda!_ ) was here, because she ignored him, they would have been sorely mistaken! In fact, he'd heard through the grapevine exactly when she did arrive. Already on the fading end, nonetheless he'd polished and dusted himself as best he could and paced anxiously in the Department of Family Reunion's lobby as she spoke with a case-worker to get settled and over the shock of being here.

Héctor already knew His Imelda was hiding her shock well, just nodding, and putting her focus to what she now had to be used to and do. She...was so very good at that...ever since he'd taught her how...

Héctor's guts he no longer had clenched and he almost lost his nerve but no... _he had to try..._

When she came out, his hat had whipped off, and he'd lost all of his previously practiced words, some where he tried to explain, some where he knew he shouldn't. It was alright, neither version, or their many versions within, were given the chance to get out. "Ime-", the first few syllables of her name, that was as far as he got, before a shoe made his head spin. He hardly heard whatever she spat at him, and by the time he had his vision clear and straight, she was marching off.

 _Imelda...no...please!_

Not that he didn't understand. It was all his fault, he'd left her with the impression his and Ernesto's touring was more important. It wasn't even remotely true, even before Ernesto stole his songs, but...decades of being gone, even through no fault of his own, a death he couldn't control-but to have chosen better food along the road-gave a hammer of truth to them.

Actually that made that his fault too.

Héctor had just placed his hat back on his head, and shambled off back towards the wasteland he now called home. He was actually surprised to find he'd faded a bit more as Imelda had passed, he'd have thought all the damage there that could be done was. Coco was the main thing keeping him there and together now, and he knew it.

Years later even, it continued to be true. But Héctor had a new plan. A new plan that had him going back to the musicians he'd stopped talking to ever since Ernesto stealing his songs, and their mockery, put a bad taste in his mouth.

"I...I still don't get it...", the fiddle for a mariachi band here frowned and glanced from the shabby skeleton to the phone.

Héctor held in his sigh, "You are calling Rivera Shoes", he said, a few more family members following her, and Imelda now had back up what she had in life. Héctor had never gotten the chance to tell her of how proud he was of her, both then and now, but maybe if this worked...

"Your name is Señor Alberto Alonzo...".

"Oh, that sounds made up", the fiddler criticized.

Héctor clenched his fists, not in rage, but utter frustration. _This was a very important plan, and yet the one part to get it off the ground was refusing to comprehend...!_

"Of course it's made up, I made it up!", he rushed, "But you're going to call and...".

"No I just mean no one will believe it's a real name", the other argued.

Héctor counted to ten, "If they don't we'll try again...".

"and they won't recognize my voice", the other scoffed.

"I will figure that part of it, alright!", Héctor said, fully annoyed, "just pick up the phone!".

With another sigh, the fiddle player did, dialing. Héctor handed the script and stood by while it was read. He could do a lot with disguises, but Imelda knew his voice straight off. That was why he was hiring another one.

"Hello, Rivera Shoes?", the fiddle player asked as he got an answer, "My name is...Alberto Alonzo...and I was wondering...".

 _"Don't sound like you're dead!"_ , Héctor whispered, " _Sound like you're actually asking!"_.

 _"I am dead!"_ , the other argued back. Héctor made all sorts of impatient motions. "Yes", the other went on with the act, speaking into the phone, "I need shoes. For, uh, my client, my very important client". Héctor gripped at his hair, _that was not what was on the paper!_ He would have grabbed the phone back, but a sudden ending of the call would look suspicious and they might not take again from this number. Maybe they would, but Héctor felt he couldn't risk it.

"Uh, shoe size?", the fiddler glanced to Héctor, who grimaced and pointed to his sheet he, as a performer, was not using! "Twelve", the fiddler answered. Héctor could also not change his actual shoe size, and would just have to pray Imelda didn't smell a rat at that one fact alone and refuse the sale. This was also why, though they were at a pay phone outside the rehearsal building they often used, Héctor didn't have the fiddler be himself either.

Imelda would refuse making shoes for musicians. Off principle.

"Yes Ma'am" the other went on. _Dios Mio! Was it Imelda herself on the line?_ Héctor wished with all his fiber (or the fiber left in bone) that he _could_ pull better voices. T _o hear even her Annoyed-at-Customers-but-still-being-Polite Voice!_

 _"Just one dance?", a younger him had asked, "to see if you don't hate me", and even the annoyed insults she threw at him had been beautiful._

Héctor snapped to when the other hung up the receiver. "Well?!", he asked anxiously.

"The Señora on the phone agreed to meet here tomorrow, inside the rehearsal hall", the fiddler reported. _She had?_ Héctor was surprised by this last bit of information, but all but spun in his joy at the first, an enthused grito spilling out as he threw his hat off, and scaring some older women into hurrying down the street. "She's coming tomorrow, oh thank-you Amigo! A dozen times over!", the poor fiddler was gifted an unexpected hug. Héctor then letting him go, "I must go! I must plan up my disguise to perfection so that she doesn't recognize me but I may possibly just...ah!", Héctor cut off his sentimental ramblings to a stranger and rushed on down the street, picking up his hat along the way and doing more than a few leaps up in the air more.

The fiddler just shook his head before moving off, glad his part of whatever that was for was done. "Mama begged me to find a better job and company...I probably should have just let Papa put me to work in the fields", he lamented his life, and death, path as he moved on.


	2. Show Time!

A/N: Thank you everyone for the love! This is fun! I don't know how many rounds of costumes Héctor will be able to go or if he'll get found out! Hee, but it'll be fun either way!

* * *

Choice of costume had taken most of the night to come up with. Well, to be _content_ with. Everything Héctor pondered, or pieced together with what he had, even prior a plan, seemed see through to Imelda. He also realized he couldn't get around the voice problem forever...what was he gonna do? Not talk to her the entire interaction!

 _Well...maybe..._

Not through his own choice, of course, he'd talk her ear she didn't still have off if she'd only let him, but that...was going to be a very hard worked towards goal. Step one, though! Everything about the plan was a long shot, but Héctor Rivera didn't have any short shots.

A jacket to expertly hold in padding and he didn't look quite so skinny and identifiable already! Over this went a tunic type wrap he'd...borrowed...of a very far traveled (though to the Land of the Dead was all the same distance really) skeleton from India; and his also-borrowed-turban to hide his mop of hair. False beard of more than he'd ever had.

Héctor already felt eccentric in this outfit, so just added a bit more for good measure...

* * *

Imelda, tough as nails or no, had of course not come to this unknown meeting alone. Most of the usual set of family was with her in the Land of the Dead, but she thankfully (or un-thankfully?) brought two persons Héctor recognized. Her twin Hermanos. They'd grown from when Hector had last seen them even when they'd been adults then. Grown older.

Imelda sized up, discreetly, her client, and Héctor almost felt it was all over! _She knew!_ No...she did not, proven when she took a seat, leading this interaction, but still looked discomfited at the musical area they were in.

"Mr...Khan?", she inquired. It had not been the best thought out of names, but Héctor had been trying to think quickly when it was unexpectedly asked.

He almost lapsed into Spanish. _But that was right no talking._ Héctor nodded, handing over a sheet of paper, and feeling his mouth without saliva anyway dry all the same. Given the chance to take it in, she was still as beautiful as the day he'd left her.

Looking puzzled, Imelda took the paper and read, "You...must save your voice for your acting career...", she read. Héctor made all sorts of dramatic motions, of yes, and as if acting, talking to the sky. Imelda hummed very decisively judging, "Well then, Mr. Khan, I don't see how we'll...".

Héctor pointed to the sheet again, slower and more polite than he had yesterday with the fiddler, then sat back and looked whatever Important Eccentric Artist looked like. "You will write out your responses...", Imelda read, then placed a hand to where her nose had been, and would have pinched the bridge if she could.

Her helpful hermanos leaned in, or Oscar did first off, whispering, but Héctor heard it, "We can run the messages back and forth". "And you don't want to just give up the sale?", Felipe added lower. For a small moment, Héctor wondered if they knew...they _would_ have aided him in this stunt of his, or had before, with other stunts, when all were alive.

They didn't seem to know though. "Fine", Imelda sighed, glancing to her client again, "What sort of shoes were you thinking Mr. Khan? Other sorts of slippers such as you have and I understand are native? Rest assured we can work well with textiles also so it should be no problem", _but she should let him state what he wanted_.

Héctor had become distracted, just taking in every small bit of how Imelda was, and how he had missed it all! He snapped to, discretely, and recalled the question he was to answer, looking like he pondered this deeply, then he took up another scrap of paper from the table near him and wrote. Felipe instantly came over to take and deliver it.

 _Yes, to start and if not too hard a start. I could use many shoes for many parts though, so could call on you often if you wished._

Not a word of that was an actual lie!

Imelda glanced from the note back up, "Yes, well I will start with your slippers and we will see", she sounded not eager about the sale, but Héctor knew that was just over-caution in such from a business owner. _She liked the idea of a repeat customer! If, maybe, not his job._

He could, and would, change that last around though, so her aversion to many types of artists was not a problem at all!

He nodded, inclining his head, and bowing with a hand sweep, and almost losing his turban! He quickly righted it, keeping the panicked look towards the ground, so neither Imelda or her brothers noticed anything.

"Yes, well, you may already have it, but here is our address, come by for a proper fitting...I couldn't do it here...", _because she wanted out of this den of artists! "_ and we will get you properly squared away". Imelda handed over a business card, and even if Héctor had tried with all he had, it would have been impossible for his hand not to brush hers lightly as he took it. That and he didn't try.

It had lost the warmth it had in life...and yet hadn't.

He just nodded, glad he had already established why he couldn't speak, because now words escaped him again. Imelda stood, and he did next, to see her to the door. Héctor pondered trying to find some reason other for her to tarry, but the trip again in this get up was enough...of a push at the moment.

Héctor doubted whatever he was gifted, or won, with this, he could ever get enough of time with Imelda. Especially after losing so much so early!

As she passed over the threshold of the building, it was clear Imelda thought very little of her client, and his all but forgetting his manners, and possibly just him in general. _Artist_ that he was.

Héctor would change that where she thought of the actual him! He was sure! Mostly sure...


	3. Premonitions

Mr. Khan showed promptly and punctual at Rivera Shoes the next day for his fitting (and Héctor Rivera was cheering to himself at _all_ of his cleverness. He didn't even have a pronounced limp to ruin this disguise straight off). A woman he didn't recognize-but then not surprising, he was very out of touch with the family, and fixing that-opened the door. "Oh Mr. Khan! So nice to meet you, I'm Rosita, do come in", she gestured him inside.

With what looked to be a very refined bow and nod in one, _Mr. Khan_ did so. Rosita shut the door as her guest glanced around, seemingly just curious, but in fact taking in every inch of the house he hadn't, as of yet, been allowed inside of. His current hostess then lead the way from the main workshop room to a side room that seemed to act as a parlor.

"Do have a seat", Rosita said, gesturing to what looked like one of their best chairs, "Mrs. Rivera is in the back room, and will be right out; I'll go tell her you're here and see about getting refreshments". Héctor, or _Mr. Khan_ , nodded his thanks, and was just wondering on his manners, when Rosita went on, as if having read his mind.

"Oh, and no worries, Mrs. Rivera told us about you saving your voice, it must be wonderfully exciting! Being an actor! We don't normally host performers", Rosita half-gushed before disappearing in a rush of skirts into the back. _If this went poorly they would even more so never again..._ Héctor mused.

* * *

"Are you sure you're alright, Imelda?", Oscar asked, peering at his sister from between his own work. She had made a slight error in the curve of cutting cloth. Not for their performer's shoes, yet, but just into strips of usability. Imelda gave a hum as she glanced up, and then clicked her tongue at herself.

"Yes, fine...and, oh I don't know...there is something about all of this that unsettles me", she confessed.

"Well, this is the the first accepted order from a performer in a while", Felipe supplied an answer, carefully.

"It's not that...", Imelda shook her head, "It's...well, again, I don't know, only...". _Something she should be very aware of, some...reason she should never have taken this job, that...if she hadn't repressed memories she would know by now._ Of course Imelda didn't realize all of this behind her feeling, if she did, she would have known exactly what the problem was and would be taking steps to correct.

She should be able to recognize her husband, disguise or no!

Yet, Imelda couldn't. She had forgotten about so much of how he was, about how...good a performer he could be if he had to. Never to her, and that was part of the problem. Imelda had _seen_ it, but never been given it. Héctor reserved it for the man asking about the bills, even in his fake answers and dodging, or the angry neighbor who claimed they had made too much noise with their dancing and playing in the courtyard last night.

If Imelda could have recalled Héctor's disbelieving, charming answer to that, she might have never doubted him in the first place. _Making noise! How could those two pairs of beautiful feet such as his girls had make anything that anyone would ever tire of hearing, let alone when 'his vida' sung..._

Never-mind most of the complaint had been against him. Gritos were reserved for daylight hours after all, as she had laughingly tried to tell him at the time.

But Imelda had forgotten all of this, and only knew something bothered her. She chalked it up to not wanting to work with a performer, as her brother suggested. Rosita then came in to announce that their newest client was here. Imelda sighed, " _The actor only need to be here a few days..._ ", she told herself. Hopefully this didn't turn into an entire string of artist type clientele!

Still wondering, though she sort of knew, why she hadn't refused the order directly, Imelda made her way out to the parlor type room (or what they used for such) of their home and shop. "Mr. Khan, so sorry for the wait, greetings again", this time Imelda did the favor of extending her hand for a light shake. She forgot (and didn't know truly!) what she dealt with. The actor inclined his head politely, still choosing not to speak, and then gave her hand a light, polite kiss, and while _that_ was not extended out too much, when he was done, he did _not_ then release her hand as was proper!

Imelda had to slightly remove her hand from his grip herself, and a light frown creased her features, though she then smiled and strove to not show it. "Well come on in the shop and we'll get you measured". Her client did such, perching on the stool she indicated. Oscar and Felipe, already in the shop, both bent and took up a foot each.

Héctor Rivera had...borrowed a neighbor's foot (he was sleeping off a hangover and would not need it for a whole day!)...and Chicharrón's femur for connecting purposes...but had only done such for one side. The other foot was his own...and either twin was sure to notice that! _Well...Imelda would straight off...so good thing her brothers were doing the measuring_.

They were both the same size foot of course (since the shoe size had not raised any alarms) and he had been hard pressed to find a neighbor, in Shantytown no less, with the exact same size foot! He should be rewarded for such cleverness by not...being almost found out, as he felt he was! Mr. Khan appeared cool and collected, but studied Felipe, who held the tell-tale foot! Yet when the twins sat back, neither face looked suspicious.

 _Though, again, if they knew they would_ _play along!_ Not that Héctor honestly thought they did. The two just scribbled and handed their measurements over to Imelda who studied them and then glanced back up to her client. Héctor almost shrank inside his costume with that look, and the fear that she saw too much.

He did not think his wife was a push over. Far from it! He quickly scribbled his own message, something about times that worked or didn't for her, and handed it over. Imelda read the note, then answered simply, "Thank-you Mr. Khan, come back next Tuesday". And that was that, and all of his reasons for tarrying here. A few mintues a week was more than what he had before though, and there was always pushing his luck with other disguises...

Héctor knew he probably shouldn't push _that_ far, not yet, and so Mr. Khan just nodded graciously again (and more gracefully) and stood to take his leave. He extended a hand once more, hoping she would take it...but Imelda just glanced from his hand to him and rather than push it this close even, when she _could_ notice something, the skeleton put his fancy borrowed slippers back on and took his leave.

* * *

A/N: I wasn't going to include Chicharrón's femur, or give an answer to a story that actually doesn't need one and may be better off a mystery, but then it proved half useful so... :D


	4. Discovery

Shoe pick up was a couple weeks later (the Riveras had been backlogged with orders) and Héctor had another problem. Chicharrón had come for his femur! He'd already known the time in which he could get away with having stolen it was limited, but... _now what was he supposed to do!_ He couldn't show back up with a different femur than the one he'd previously had! The one what was _his_ femur!

Sure...the rest of him had been him too...behind disguise...but...

The faded skeleton groaned again to think of it, but...there was nothing for it. He had to make the best of this. At least his neighbor from India was alright with him borrowing the get up for an extended amount of time. Also, despite his hesitancy about it, he was required to bring along the fiddler-talent-agent (per his assigned role) since as a well known artist he could not go too many times and endure the hassle of not-speaking without his translator of sorts as well.

All made up facts to aid a made up role, and a big part of Héctor inwardly shook his head again. _They are all just self-important jerks! Artists! Musicians! Yourself included..._

Héctor was pulled from his thoughts after knocking once more at the Rivera doorway by noticing his companion fidgeting. "Stop that!", he spared a hisses set of words, and lightly smacked the other's hand as he went to chew nails he didn't have anymore.

The other shook his head, "This isn't going to...".

"Shh!", off some instinct, Héctor knew right before the door was opened that it would be, and put on his act of Self Important Artist, motioning to his companion to get 'in character' too. Only the fiddler didn't know what his character _was_! So he did his best neutral. It seemed everyone but Imelda was taking turns on answering the door, this time it was Julio, "Hola Senor Khan", he gestured to inside the Rivera household and shop yet again. The second time Héctor had been allowed in, though they of course didn't know it.

 _Soon enough, he wouldn't have to hide..._

Well if he continued to play this right.

Héctor nudged the fiddler to remind him he should be saying words, then took in what he could of it all yet again as Julio lead him and his companion to the parlor. "Ah, yes, I am Mr. Khan's agent", the fiddler said, giving a short bow, "So sorry I couldn't come earlier, but you know how it is, when you manage so many". If the musician had one thing going for him and this ruse, and free-styling in it, he could make up manager jargon, having either dealt with or sought them out.

Héctor smiled inwardly, half impressed, _this was going to work!_

"Er, yes, of course...", Julio was trying to pretend he _did_ know about the world of managing 'talent', though thanks to Mama Imelda's rule he knew nothing on artist whatsoever! Not until they had decided to take this client.

Speaking of Mama Imelda, she came out once more to greet and update, as was her duty with customers and as the head of the business, especially as she heard a new voice (not the one of the artist saving his!).

"Um, my mother-in-law, Imelda Rivera", Julio introduced, and gave Héctor a small clue to who was who, or who _he_ was. _Mother-in-law?! So assuming she hadn't ever remarried (that thought, and to even consider it stung so hard!) Coco had married?!_ _Well but of course she had!_

Héctor subtly turned to glance the boy-young-old! man-over as he should have done before and when Coco first brought him home, though he knew he would have been the least harsh of him and Imelda on the then boy, no matter how things had gone...

The supposed Mr. Khan turned his gaze back over to Imelda once more and semi-watching the fiddler still try to keep up this charade, but mostly watching her.

"Yes, well, here you are Mr. Khan", Imelda nodded to the artist, albeit almost begrudgingly, though it hardly showed unless one knew her, as Héctor did, and handed over a box that put a further nail to the coffin (horrible statement perhaps!) of reasons to come over. Ah well, again, he could work with that. With a small bow himself befitting character, Héctor took the box, and used the slight option to seem rude (but then he was a very important artists and they would do that) and open the box, semi-inspecting the shoes, though really he was just trying to think up further reasons to stay. There weren't any, of course.

Imelda merely straightened and awaited, it was customary for customers to inspect the wares they were buying, though she couldn't help being a bit annoyed at the time he took about it! Mr. Khan then glanced up. "Will there be anything else?", was Imelda's way of asking if everything was alright and up to par. the artist nodded again, that all was fine. Closing the box, he then went to incline his head in another bow towards her...but forgot himself and his role, and _this time_ when he went to right his turban it wasn't unnoticed or enough.

Héctor saw Imelda stiffen suspiciously. _He could still pass this off though..._

With both hands still holding his turban in place, Héctor gave another quick nod and shuffled towards the door, while the fiddler just stood, unsure and undecided in the entryway of the Rivera shop, and Julio slightly baffled. "Wait a second...", Imelda stormed forward, and by her manner, Héctor could tell she didn't think she was about to insult some important artist...

He might have tried to stop it, if he could think how. The matriarch of the Rivera Zapateria marched up and, in a swift move with costumes for once, swiped both turban and false beard and stared almost disbelieving. Héctor grimaced and waved feebly with one hand, "I-Imelda hi...".

The fiddler, in clear co-conspirator motive, bolted out the still open door, giving no explanation or excuse and disappearing down the street before he could be questioned or asked anything by either the irate woman or confused squat man. Julio still slowly swung the door closed behind him, before turning to his mother-in-law. "Um...Mama Imelda...".

"No-one", Imelda answered the unasked in icy tones that she saw stung Héctor, but didn't care. "Get back to the shop" she said distractedly to her son-in-law. Julio shuffled off.

Héctor had fully righted himself and discarded his costume, his tattered clothes from underneath visible once more, and the fancy turban and tunic in a pile. "Imelda...", he began again, "I...", but he was cut off again, and Imelda swiped the box back.

"You... _waste my material...and time!_ ", Imelda pointed fiercely with her other hand.

"I didn't...no...that was real money the fiddler gave you...mine, and you don't have to give back a...", Héctor rushed.

"Fiddler! You hauled another musician into my home after your sorry...".

"I couldn't find anyone else!"

"Not surprising!"

This conversation of irate and flurried, desperate tones was silence once more as Imelda suddenly turned after her last shot. "Get out".

"Imelda please, let me explain why...".

"I said out! Julio should have left the door open", still without turning, Imelda pointed, but Héctor detected something new in her voice (well probably not new, not since '21), she was on the verge of tears and holding it in. Oscar and Felipe were probably the only other people who could detect it.

Héctor stood there, fidgeting, unsure, but yet again his words were stolen. He muttered something that was probably an apology and, scooping up the costume, walked over and opened the door before pausing. Standing hesitant in the doorway. Imelda noticed what she'd done too late. _She hadn't meant to..._

 _She'd done this before...they both had. His pausing put it into clearer definition._

And just like decades before, Imelda stiffened, but didn't turn. Given the spell, she expected Héctor to sigh once more and leave, like he had in 1921, so when he didn't...when she heard words out of him, she became unstuck.

"Imelda I only meant...".

A shoe clanged against the door-frame, barely missing him! He took the hint...and breathing heavily, Imelda watched the empty path a bit before walking forward to retrieve her shoe.

* * *

A/N: If Héctor's smart, that'll be that, but I don't think he is :D


End file.
